whole area is alive. And we get on board a bus to the ferry, and once again a feeling of great happiness comes over me. Then there is the last hour on a bus to the south coast. Lketinga seems nervous. I ask him: ‘Darling, are you okay?’ ‘Yes,’ he says and then starts talking to me. I don’t understand everything he says, but I gather he intends to find out who stole my letters to him and which of the Masai told me he was married. He looks so grim that it almost scares me. I try to calm him down, tellhim that none of it matters anymore, but he doesn’t answer and just looks out of the window.
We go straight to the village, where Priscilla is astounded to see the two of us. She greets us warmly and makes chai . Esther has gone. All my stuff is hanging neatly folded over a string behind the door. Lketinga and Priscilla talk, amicably at first, but then the discussion takes a serious tone. I try to find out what’s going on, and Priscilla tells me he’s accusing her of knowing that I’d written. Eventually Lketinga calms down and goes off to sleep on our big bed.
Priscilla and I remain outside and try to find a solution to our sleeping arrangements: the three of us together, particularly with a Masai woman, is not an option. Then another Masai who’s planning to move to the northern coast offers us his hut. So in the end we clean my new home, drag my big bed across and when I’ve sorted things out as best I can, I’m happy with the arrangement and a rent which costs the equivalent of ten Swiss francs a month.
The next two weeks are an idyll. I start teaching Lketinga to read and write. He’s delighted and shows real enthusiasm for learning. The English picture books are a great help, and he takes pride in every letter he learns to recognize. In the evenings we sometimes go to watch Masai dances for the tourists and sell Masai trinkets that we make ourselves. Lketinga and I make pretty armbands and Priscilla embroiders belts.
On one occasion there’s a daylong sale of paintings, trinkets and spears at the Robinson Club. A lot of people from the north bank come over for it, including Masai women. Lketinga has gone into Mombasa and bought some things from local traders to give us more to display. Business is brilliant. The white people swarm around our stand and swamp me with questions. When we’ve sold nearly all our stuff I join some of the other sellers to help them. Lketinga doesn’t like that because some of these Masai are still to blame for keeping us apart so long. On the other hand, I don’t want any ill feeling because they have generously allowed us to join in.
Time and again one or other group of tourists at the bar invites us to join them for a drink. I join a few of them, but once or twice is enough. It’s more fun selling. Lketinga hangs around the bar with a couple of Germans. From time to time I glance across but only see their backs. After a while I go over to join them briefly and am horrified to see Lketingadrinking beer. For a warrior alcohol is forbidden. Even if the Masai on the coast drink occasionally, Lketinga is from the Samburu District and certainly not used to alcohol. I ask him worriedly: ‘Darling, why you drink beer?’ But he just laughs: ‘These friends invited me.’ I tell the Germans to stop buying him beer immediately because he’s not used to alcohol. They apologize and try to calm me down, saying he’s only had three! I just hope it’s okay.
Eventually the sale comes to an end, and we pack up what remains. Outside the hotel the Masai are sharing out money. I’m hungry, tired from the heat and standing all day and want to go home. Lketinga, a bit tipsy but still in a good mood, decides to go to Ukunda to eat with a couple of the others. I pass and go back disappointed, alone.
That is my biggest mistake as I learn later. In five days’ time my visa is due to run out, I realize on the way back to the village. Lketinga and I intend to go to Nairobi, although I
We go straight to the village, where Priscilla is astounded to see the two of us. She greets us warmly and makes chai . Esther has gone. All my stuff is hanging neatly folded over a string behind the door. Lketinga and Priscilla talk, amicably at first, but then the discussion takes a serious tone. I try to find out what’s going on, and Priscilla tells me he’s accusing her of knowing that I’d written. Eventually Lketinga calms down and goes off to sleep on our big bed.
Priscilla and I remain outside and try to find a solution to our sleeping arrangements: the three of us together, particularly with a Masai woman, is not an option. Then another Masai who’s planning to move to the northern coast offers us his hut. So in the end we clean my new home, drag my big bed across and when I’ve sorted things out as best I can, I’m happy with the arrangement and a rent which costs the equivalent of ten Swiss francs a month.
The next two weeks are an idyll. I start teaching Lketinga to read and write. He’s delighted and shows real enthusiasm for learning. The English picture books are a great help, and he takes pride in every letter he learns to recognize. In the evenings we sometimes go to watch Masai dances for the tourists and sell Masai trinkets that we make ourselves. Lketinga and I make pretty armbands and Priscilla embroiders belts.
On one occasion there’s a daylong sale of paintings, trinkets and spears at the Robinson Club. A lot of people from the north bank come over for it, including Masai women. Lketinga has gone into Mombasa and bought some things from local traders to give us more to display. Business is brilliant. The white people swarm around our stand and swamp me with questions. When we’ve sold nearly all our stuff I join some of the other sellers to help them. Lketinga doesn’t like that because some of these Masai are still to blame for keeping us apart so long. On the other hand, I don’t want any ill feeling because they have generously allowed us to join in.
Time and again one or other group of tourists at the bar invites us to join them for a drink. I join a few of them, but once or twice is enough. It’s more fun selling. Lketinga hangs around the bar with a couple of Germans. From time to time I glance across but only see their backs. After a while I go over to join them briefly and am horrified to see Lketingadrinking beer. For a warrior alcohol is forbidden. Even if the Masai on the coast drink occasionally, Lketinga is from the Samburu District and certainly not used to alcohol. I ask him worriedly: ‘Darling, why you drink beer?’ But he just laughs: ‘These friends invited me.’ I tell the Germans to stop buying him beer immediately because he’s not used to alcohol. They apologize and try to calm me down, saying he’s only had three! I just hope it’s okay.
Eventually the sale comes to an end, and we pack up what remains. Outside the hotel the Masai are sharing out money. I’m hungry, tired from the heat and standing all day and want to go home. Lketinga, a bit tipsy but still in a good mood, decides to go to Ukunda to eat with a couple of the others. I pass and go back disappointed, alone.
That is my biggest mistake as I learn later. In five days’ time my visa is due to run out, I realize on the way back to the village. Lketinga and I intend to go to Nairobi, although I
Similar Books
